A Predicament
by sollyinpurplepants
Summary: Two Draenei get into an argument over a weapon. The story takes place in current 8.3 content! Rated k for a swear


**I've been invested into World of Warcraft as late, and got super attached to one of my toons: a Draenei hunter named Aleem. I've been wanting to write up a fic or two based on my experience leveling him, and getting smacked with 8.3 content was something. XD The other Draenei in the fic is Bezaleel, my Draenei spriest.**

**Here's what stemmed from the experience! **

In the quiet village of Thelsamar, the sun began to rise over the horizon. With the exception of the mountaineers and fishermen, very few travelled out of the comfort of their homes, let alone their own beds. Even adventurers staying at the Stoutlager Inn wisely stayed inside, should a trogg or ogre come to attack them during their travels to Ironforge.

Near the outskirts, a Draenei hurried on horseback towards Loch Modan. This particular fellow was not too fond of mornings, but a letter of great urgency forced him to take up the reins and hurry to the loch. He knew too well of the ogres and troggs, but he wisely knew that they too were not too keen on waking up. He arrived on the derelict shoreline of the loch, and was disappointed to see another Draenei sitting on a rock.

"By the Light, it's you Aleem!" The Draenei exclaimed. "I thought you'd get-"

"What made you think I was going to be on the grave ship Bezaleel?" Aleem asked, ignoring the other's commentary. "It's over your mailbox, isn't it?"

Bezaleel huffed, and sat down on a rock close by to the other. "So the Huntmaster has come to ask a lowly priest for help?" He started. "My, this is interesting indeed."

Aleem paid no attention to Bezaleel's reply and said, "I know you work quite extensively with crazy shit Bez, and I need help in that regard. It's something… about a weapon."

"The Naaru are with me today!" Bezaleel thought, and with a smug grin, took his time scanning the expression on Aleem's face. "Now Aleem, I am not a miracle healer. But, the way you're looking is making me wonder what _sort _of weapon you picked up. Was it cursed?"

"It wasn't cursed!" Aleem thought, but he threw a glare at the priest. "Do I look like the type who'd go around plundering ruins?"

"The spirits at Auchindoun have not forgiven you." Bezaleel replied, placing a pale white hand over his palm. He wanted to strangle that idiot, but he didn't want to incur the wrath of the warrior said idiot oh so fondly _loved_. "Now, about that weapon..."

Aleem nodded, and presented a case to Bezaleel. "I picked it up recently in Stormsong Valley." He started, albeit with hesitation. "It helped out initially, but I started to touch the Void and hear its whispers."

"Let me see." Bezaleel ordered, and the case was gingerly handed to him. He opened the case, expecting it to be a sword or a staff. Instead, it was a hunting rifle. "_Ashjrakamas_!" He snapped, closing the case immediately with a swift smack of his tail. "What makes you think the Void touched a rifle? Let alone, a _**Kul Tiran **_hunting rifle!?"

"Let me explain. When I assembled it and tried to take aim, I felt I wasn't myself." Aleem calmly said, opening the case once more. "When I fired, I was in pain." After assembling the rifle, he took aim at a stray bottle resting along the shoreline. Just as he pulled the trigger, a burning sensation came over him. Purple energy had enveloped him, and Aleem swore that something was wrapping around his leg. "Bezaleel! HELP!"

Bezaleel's eyes widened, and made a silent gesture to hand the rifle over. Aleem quickly (and roughly) handed the rifle, and the priest was amazed. Tendrils pushed out of the bolt, and began to wrap themselves around Bezaleel's wrist. Instead of it being harsh like Aleem described, Bezaleel found the touch to be light and gentle. With a small smile, the priest began to stroke one of the tendrils with his free hand. "He just wanted to make a friend." He cooed, looking at Aleem. "Look at him!"

Aleem grimaced at the eyes that began to spring out of the writhing mess, wondering why he chose to rescue that fool of a priest from the orcs' clutches that fateful day. "I am not touching _that_. What if it strangled me in my sleep?"

Bezaleel shook his head and replied, "Not quite. All it'd do is corrupt you into being a servant of a god."

Aleem was bewildered. "What god?" He demanded, getting rather furious. "I killed the remnants of a god called C'thuun-"

"Then that explains your problem!" Bezaleel chuckled, watching Aleem start to inch forward (mostly with the intention of slapping the priest). "It's the Old Gods! They normally go after your mind, but this one is fascinating. Going after weapons is _most _unusual..."

Aleem mouthed an insult and sat down firmly on his rock. "Why me?" He asked, burying his face into his palms. "I swear each time I fire, I get shot at by the Void!"

"Oh you poor soul." Bezaleel said sarcastically. "All this Old God wants to do is love you. I heard rumors from Ironforge that one of his servants knifed him so hard he's desperate for a new one."

"Only you _zekul_. Only you." Aleem thought, looking away from the priest. "And I reckon the whispers are something too, eh?" He asked, his words like poison.

"You and the Old Gods were made for each other for all." Bezaleel grinned, revealing serrated teeth. "They want to tell you that you're not the hope of the world!"

Without speaking, Aleem managed to pry the rifle away from Bezaleel and put it back in the case. "I reckon they also told you that I go murder someone?" He dryly asked.

"Technically, yes." Bezaleel replied. "They planted the seeds, but I don't think you'd make the cut. You'd never kill unless-"

Before Bezaleel knew it, he was being chased by an irate hunter and his bear.


End file.
